Second Chance
by DarwinTheFour
Summary: It would be a second chance. A second chance for both of them. But first Quiet had to find him, and finding him would prove difficult alone.
1. P: Nightmare

**?**

 **?**

 **Fortress**

 **Nightmare**

It was cold.

The metallic corridor did nothing to dispel the thin layer of frost that had settled on the lights. A thick veil of mist enshrouded the area, visibility was less than four feet in front. An alarm blared, a faint whine that grew ear-piercingly loud before returning back to faint. The tapping of boots was the only contrasting sound to be heard past the alarm. A sniper rifle silently rattled on the figure's back, blotches of black in-between the eyes.

A single thought ran through the figure's mind as she ran through the corridors.

How she had watched him die.

Quiet passed through a hissing door and scanned the next room. A rectangular box with flashing red lights. Empty, just like the rest. The mist did nothing to improve her vision, and the alarm deafened her to any sounds that emanated from the nearby rooms. She only knew the room was empty because of her sixth sense, a sniper sense it could be called. He was to the left, about seven rooms away- give or take.

She walked left and came upon a blinking door light. Red. Red for locked. Quiet silently cursed. Of course it would be locked, things were never easy for her. Taking a detour, Quiet made her way towards another door and dashed along the corridor. Door after door she went through of empty rooms. Until something pricked upon her face.

Quiet stopped and felt her cheeks, something brushed against it, small particles that felt like sand paper. She raised her gloved hand and caught some within her palm. In the low light, Quiet inspected the particles. Beige with a tinge of gray layered on top. Sand, how it got inside this deep in the fortress was beyond Quiet. She pressed on, the sand suddenly growing at her feet. It filled her boots and scratched against her ankles. Pressing her lips together, the sniper looked away from the billowing winds. Sand whooshed around and the entire area was given an orange-yellow look to it. The sand grew to her thighs and Quiet stumbled and fell. Beige filled her vision and the heat burned at her back.

Images burned into her eyes. Images of the past. Quiet scrambled to her feet and willed the past away. Now wasn't the time to think about such things. A snake slithered by her feet as Quiet drudged along to the door.

With a hiss of the door, she dived through and shut it behind her. A sigh of relief brushed past her lips as Quiet stood up and brushed most of the sand off her body. She held her rifle in her hands. The barrel gleamed and the wooden body was polished. The scope reflected some of her face in the lens. Quiet checked the inner mechanisms for any sandy damage. There was no sand, to her relief. Bolting the gun back up, Quiet looked at the dusty scope, a single crack running along the lens. The body was worn, scratches and chips all over. The barrel was slightly warped.

Quiet smiled, her eyes slightly watering. The clean gun brought nostalgia and she enjoyed it for a few seconds before moving forward. Past another door and into another empty room. All the doors in this room were locked, all except for one. Blinking green and beckoning her to enter. She checked the other doors, and they wouldn't budge, no matter what she did to it. Quiet tried phasing through the metal, but it was too thick to accommodate her petite size.

The green door led to a short and narrow corridor with a single door standing at the very end. It almost beckoned her towards it. With one hand held protectively on her rifle strap, Quiet walked towards the other door. One foot in front of the other. Only a couple more rooms beyond this and she'd meet him.

The light above her blinked and shattered, casting a dark shadow behind her. She continued forward, surefire and steady. The next light above her blinked and shattered. Every bulb Quiet walked under broke and cast the corridor further into the darkness.

Small rectangular mirrors ran along the walls, reflecting Quiet in all directions. Harden, changed and lonely through the years. Her body remained the same, a curse of her specialty. Quiet donned a sandy tunic, with chest pockets full of ammunitions. A similarly colored tanned scarf covered her neck and tipped at her shoulder. Combat pants were tucked into of black boots. A black horn sprouted from the side of her forehead, large and ever menacing. Blood covered her face and dripped down onto her tunic. Dark emerald orbs could be seen apart from the crimson, staring at the goal ahead.

One by one, the mirrors along the wall cracked. Parts of the mirror showed a man, other parts showed a woman. They shared in common the blood that coated their faces and the look of determination and reminiscence in their eyes.

Their Phantom Pain.

Quiet stopped and let the door retract upwards. She stepped through and adjusted the weight of her rifle. This room was clear of mist, but in its wake was three soldiers in combat uniforms, automatic rifles in hand. Balaclavas covered their heads and on tense shoulders was an emblem that Quiet didn't recognize- didn't need to recognize.

They jumped at the sight of her, each crying out in a different language. Fear ran through their bodies, and their tense shoulders trembled at the sight of her. They all said the exact same thing.

"It's Quiet!"

A faint smirk crossed the sniper's face as she stood motionless and waited. The men took a triangle formation around her and pointed the business end of their rifles at her. She waited as they cast furtive glances at each other in an effort to decide on when to shoot her. She even waited when they wrapped a finger around the triggers of their guns.

Then, in one fluid move, Quit jumped and pirouetted in the air. She landed behind one of them and pulled out her knife. Viciously stabbing the man in the left shoulder, Quiet used his convulsing body as a shield. Bullets rained into his corpse as Quiet pushed him along towards another. Planting her boot on his chest, she propelled the body towards his buddy. He dropped his gun to block the large hunk of flesh rocketing towards them.

The last guy let loose a burst from his rifle. Quiet twisted and hurled her knife at the man, a sharp yelp and a gurgle coming from her target. Bullets ricocheted off the metal and empty casings rattled on the floor. Quiet's knife had lodged itself into the man's cheek, penetrating into the spinal cord. He slumped and fell onto his face, pushing the knife further into his head. Quiet walked over to him and wrenched her weapon out. Sheathing it in its respective holster on her belt, she picked up his rifle and moved towards the last man alive. Four short, loud, staccato pops came from the rifle and Quiet tossed it away.

Three dead bodies lay in the room, blood pooling out of their wounds.

Picking up her pace, Quiet ran to the next room. The mist had returned and shrouded her in its gray blindness. Once again, Quiet was in another empty room, devoid of any furniture or life. She moved past this room and into the next, maneuvering around empty storage containers. She pushed through the next door.

This one was yet again empty. Quiet grumbled silently as she listened to the sounds of the distant rooms. Something moved in her peripheral view. Quiet stopped and brought out her pistol. A soldier on the ground was crawling away, his uniform a tattered mess. It looked as he had stepped into a meat grinder and barely escaped without chopping his bottom to pieces. He brought his head up and stared at Quiet with glassy light blue pupils, a low guttural moan arose from his lips. An Infected.

Quiet stopped and killed it, the bullet echoing through the room.

An Infected? She asked herself. It was impossible. They died out without Skull Face's Skull unit.

She turned on her heel and moved around the body, heading out the door and into another corridor. Quiet ran along the hall and immediately felt the floor shift underneath her feet. She jumped back just in time to watch the floor panel collapse into a jet black abyss below. A small section of the panel still remained, about half a foot in length against the wall. Quiet sidled against it and moved, once she was on a wider footing, she bolted down the hall. Amplifying her body weight, Quiet dashed forward at an astonishing rate and pushed through the door at the end.

The mist in this room was easily three times as thick as the mist she had encountered previously. Quiet couldn't see an inch in front of her and her lungs felt congested- if she had lungs. Quiet had to use her sixth sense to move around the room, which was empty like the rest. She could make out someone standing in the middle, watching her movements. Quiet focused upon the shape. It did not move and it did not speak. She reached out and flinched when the figure twisted its neck and cracked it. Tiny black bugs, worms, undulated on its skin. It made the figure look blacker than shadows.

It stepped forward towards Quiet and her jaw slacked when she saw who it was. It was herself. Except in a more demonic form than what she is. Quiet raised her pistol and fired a muffled shot at the clone. It hardly flinched when the bullet embedded itself into its shoulder. Quiet backed up and fired more shots, but they did nothing to harm the clone. It continued walking towards Quiet, a black humanoid that was made entirely out of insects. She holstered her pistol and brought out her knife. Rushing forward, Quiet twirled around the clone and jabbed the blade into the base of its spine.

A foreign hand wrapped itself around Quiet's forearm and flipped her to the ground, disarming her. Quiet silently hissed in pain when her arm twisted abnormally. She spun to her feet and held her arms loose in a fighting stance.

He stood in front of her.

Snake.

Except his was younger, much younger than she had remembered. He didn't possess the eyepatch and the scars on his face weren't visible. His gray sneaking suit was pristine, unlike how she remembered it as worn yet fully functional. A similarly colored bandana was wrapped around his forehead, tied tightly behind his chocolate hair.

His fists were held high, ready to fight against her. His eyes showed no signs of recognition as he stared into Quiet's own eyes. Her jaw slacked and her stance dropped, she couldn't fight Snake. Yet by doing this, she gave him an opening to deftly punch her in the stomach and shoulder. He flipped her to the ground again and tried to break her arm, Quiet squirmed out and jumped back to her feet. She blocked his next set of attacks, deflected his punches and shoving him away from her.

Quiet silently screamed at him to stop, that he was trying to kill her- Quiet!

Then a blast of heat escalated across her face. She blacked out for a moment, the entire left side of her body ablaze with pain. When she came to, Quiet could only twist her head at the source of the heat.

"Snaaaake… You… Did good kid." A contorted voice uttered with its raspy breath.

There were two people in front of her, a couple of meters away. A veil of gray partly ate them, discovering who was who was difficult. One was on the ground, body burning, writhing, yet knowingly accepting his fate. It was like Quiet long ago, when she had discovered something that was detrimental to the ones she loved. She writhed and denied that such things could ever happen. But she accepted that she had to leave in order to protect the ones she loved. And she did leave, in the hot Afghanistan sun, hurting the person who cared for her the most.

As if on cue, the burning body jolted and twisted onto its side, giving Quiet a clear view of his face. The black eyepatch was melted onto his nose. His scars were still evident even after so many years later. A butterfly with bright blue wings fluttered and landed on his blackened nose, despite the flames licking at its wings. She reached out trying to use her voice to call out to him. The other person, who Quiet couldn't determine was, held a gun out in his hands. Quiet crawled towards him, her body screaming in protest.

As your time draws near…

"Quiet… You came back." His final words echoed through the building. A single gunshot rang along the walls as Quiet screamed.

She felt scared, scared that wasn't going to be able to see him again.

But most importantly, she felt robbed. Robbed of her only joy and determination in life.

Quiet couldn't save him. She watched in die in front of her.

And she did nothing to save him.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

[X]

Quiet jolted awake. It was pitch black, crickets chirping in the distance. The bark she was settled on scratched her back. The starry sky twinkled with lights, the humid air ever the same. Quiet shook, her face perspiring. Her throat was dry and her eyes were watery.

A nightmare. She thought to herself, wiping off the sweat that had accumulated on her forehead. A nightmare…

She looked around, observing the tranquil jungle for any threats that could have snuck up on her during the night. Foliage and trees swayed with the whisper of winds that passed by. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. In precaution, Quiet pulled her sniper rifle close and checked the magazine. Full, with and extra bullet in the chamber. Content with her defense, she rested her hand back on the tree and looked to the stars. She tucked her sniper rifle close and closed her eyes, humming a tune that hasn't aged through the years. It was _her_ tune, the only thing that she had to associate with Snake.

 _Snake. I hope you're okay._

 _You better be okay, because I'm coming back._

 _I hope._

* * *

 **[+] Clue : Nightmare**


	2. A Rumor

**May 17 1990**

 **11:34**

 **Western Africa**

 **A Rumor**

The bright sun blinded her eyes. The heat was back, almost unbearable to the skin. Distant birds chirped and the surroundings were alive with insects and various wildlife. Quiet slowly blinked and stretched where she laid. Her skin absorbed the sunlight and converted it into energy that she could use. It also served as nutrients for her body, eliminating the need to eat. She remembered those words, spoken by the gray haired Ocelot. It was during one of Miller's daily walks around Mother Base, they were discussing- or rather Ocelot was lecturing Miller about their research on Quiet, much to his discontent.

Oh how she missed those days.

Being in the cell wasn't the most luxurious of all places, but for being a rogue Cipher agent, she couldn't blame Diamond Dogs for being antsy. Besides, they made sure her every need was attended to with the grate on the ceiling and the nighttime spotlights. Mother Base was a good place. Boundaries and first world problems were nonexistent, each and every one of them treated the other like equals; like it should be in the world.

Boss, or Snake… Snake, the very word made Quiet tear up a little. Six years, six years since she had abruptly left him and Mother Base. He had come back for her, and together they fought against the Soviet tank platoon successfully. That, however, did not warrant her return. Snake had been bitten by a venomous snake, quite ironic given his name. The only way he could have survived was if Quiet had helped Pequod navigate through the sandstorm that had enveloped them.

So she did help, and in return God had activated the English strain of the Vocal Cord Parasites. She was going to die, she was supposed to die, but she didn't. Instead, the parasite had left its mark on her body. Lumps filled with worms and pus formed all over her chest, a constant reminder of the past.

Six years later and she was still standing. Her constant nightmares had brought Quiet to a decision. She was going to come back to Mother Base. Her dreams never lied to her, Snake was in trouble. It would be wrong of her if Quiet didn't at least try to help him.

But first, there was something else that needed attending to. A rumor about two rogue Skull units on the prowl in the African jungles. Quiet felt obliged to stop them, being a byproduct of their experimentation.

The Skulls. A dead unit since Skull Face had been executed by Snake and Miller. Even further dead after half a decade of inactivity and therapy deprivation. Most of them had died from being unable to control the parasites or by committing suicide. Some, albeit very few, live to this day. Those Skulls were the higher ranking personnel of the unit. They still retained their personalities and could continue to think for themselves. Dangerous beings they were, but not dangerous as Quiet.

She sat up and arched her back, popping her tense spine and shoulders. Guilty Butterfly, her sniper rifle, a relic from her past, sat in her lap. It was worn and battered with markings running along the wooden body. The trigger was easy to pull down, maybe a little too easy to pull down. The scope had a single thin crack on it, the lens slightly dusty from the lack of proper maintenance. It was something that she had to do sometime, but kept putting it off; cleaning her gun. What kind of marksman didn't clean her rifle? The question itself could be answered with another. What kind of marksman used a laser sight?

Quiet.

Quiet grimaced at the sight of the many worm filled lumps dotting her chest before zipping up her lightweight bulletproof vest. A dull gray color, it was worn after the two years since she had acquired it. It lacked the fabric on the sides and front, and instead primarily protected her front. Both for physical protection, and for emotional protection. The lumps were a painful reminder even if they weren't slimy. Her back and sides were exposed, a thick strap arranged into a Y formed the vest's skeletal frame. Next, she pulled the strap of her sniper rifle over her head and jumped down from the tree.

Taking a few minutes to stretch and remove the lactic acid in her muscles, Quiet pondered her next move. To the north was an outpost manned by an independent African PF. Nothing crossed around her in the night, and that blew her plan out of the window. She had come from the South, and the targets couldn't have gone that way. East and West were still open for discussion, but Quiet felt like she could use some action. Good for muscle memory and just overall fun. Besides, Quiet could possibly squeeze some information out of the men guarding the outpost.

She hopped up a nearby tree and scouted the northern outpost. Among the dark brown and lush green a single watch tower stood erect in the center, a couple of shoddy ghettos around it. From this distance, Quiet could see four patrolling soldiers in tan uniforms. Each were armed with basic m4's with no attachments and no sights.

This would be an easy engagement, Quiet thought as she leapt from the tree and dashed along the green and red jungle. She used her speed to shorten the time it would take to arrive at a good vantage point. Each time she dashed forward, she momentarily adjusted the pigments in her skin to make herself disappear. It created the illusion of an anomaly and soldiers have learned to fear it. It told them that they had about a minute until the demon Quiet came. Fear, as Quiet had learned through the years, was a powerful tool.

Coming to a rest on top of a jagged rock pattern high above the outpost, Quiet unholstered her rifle and peered into the scope. The movements came before her mind had ordered her body to commence those actions. It was a second nature for Quiet to get into position and prepare herself to pop some helmets. There were indeed four of them, no more and no less. No one occupied the watch tower and no one stood inside of the ghettos. Four easy targets for Quiet.

She checked her gun to see if it was chambered. Last night she had chambered it early, in preparation for any threats that could have arisen. Once that was done, she checked the end of the barrel for a suppressor, then she leaned back and rested her rifle on the rock in front of her.

A soldier idly walked from one of his comrades to the other, humming daintily to himself. The tan camouflage did nothing to blend him with the red soil of the jungle. His friend waved to him and they engaged into a conversation together in Afrikaans.

"Hey, did you hear about the Japanese warrior that's supposedly around here?" The one on the right asked amusingly.

The one on the left snorted and held his rifle loosely in one hand. "I hear it's a load of bullshit."

"Haha. The outpost further down the road said they lost some men in the surrounding forests. The officer there said he heard some piercing screams in the middle of the night."

The one on the left thought for a moment, unsure of how to properly respond to such a statement. "Probably saw their own reflections."

"Probably. But the thing is, our officer is acting strange too. Says he's been hearing things, and that he knows where this Japanese warrior is."

The left one snorted and waved for his friend to follow him. "C'mon. Let's have a chat with our officer about his sanity."

They walked across the length of the outpost and met up with another pair. Quiet watched patiently until she could identify the officer. He could confirm her suspicions more accurately than the others, provided that he wasn't bluffing. She lined up her sight with one of their heads, watching them accuse their officer of insanity. Two of them were around the officer, the last one deciding to stand back and let the pair do their thing.

Quiet lined up her sights and took a breath in and out.

Time seemed to slow around her. The soldier's lips comically moved into strange positions at a slug-like pace. The birds chirping were drowned out by her own breathing and everything came into focus on the four soldiers. Her finger squeezed the trigger exceptionally fast-

Once.

Twice.

And three times.

Time resumed its normal speed and three soldiers around the officer suddenly snapped back and fell on their backs. All without a single sound. The officer looked dumbfounded. He stared at his dead comrades and knelt down to see what happened. Finally, when he put two and two together, the officer bolted up and started off towards the other outpost.

Quiet fired again.

The officer fell, his face scraping along the rocky red road. Quiet had landed a clean shot through his knee and crippled him. Just to make sure, Quiet fired another shot and took out his other knee. She began making her way down towards the ground as the officer turned onto his back and held his m4 out.

His fingers trembled and the gun shook so violently in his hands, that the officer doubted that he could hit the broad side of a barn. Slowly and painfully, he dragged himself along the road. His ears were open for any abnormal sound in the jungle, but each and every shuffling bush or tree made him flinch. The officer had a feeling for who it might be. The fabled sniper women who tore havoc throughout Afghanistan and Central Africa six years ago. She was still the talk of the town, even after so long, because of her new target areas; West and East Africa.

For the most part the sniper woman didn't touch upon the African military forces in the area. Instead, opting to go after her own targets. Yet, when she did go after them. She'd do it with an inhuman amount of efficiency, as evidenced by the sudden events. Five shots that not a single person heard or will ever hear.

The sniper's name was Quiet… and she was walking towards him. A worn down black military vest covering the front side of her torso, pockets loaded with dribbles of ammunition. Wrapped around her right thigh was a black bandana, a chipped and battered knife slid in between the fabric. Her hair was longer, reaching down to the middle of her back in a ponytail. Her face remained the same as the descriptions; eyes that glared daggers into your very soul, a locked, round face, and pursed lips with clenched teeth that could tear a man's ear clean off. The officer's spine shuddered.

He tried to run, but could only manage a frantic drag down the road. His fingernails dug into the rocks and various scrapes stung on his chin. Quiet was soon standing over him. She lifted her boot and slammed it into the man's knee, making him howl as pain shot up through his body. Quiet pulled out her knife and straddled the officer. She pressed the blade into his neck and drew a thin line of blood. In her head she ran through various Afrikaans words in her mind and formed them in her mouth.

"This warrior. Where?" Quiet demanded.

The officer let out a small shriek. His breathing was shallow, uneven, and fast. "N-No!"

Quiet pressed the knife further into his neck, the thin line of blood growing slightly in size. The officer cried out and gripped the soil to will himself not to move.

"Y-yes! Yes!"

"Where." Quiet bore holes into his eyes. It was a neat thing that she had developed after her parasite therapy. Quiet could have cute, playful eyes, or Quiet could have cold, piercing eyes. Right now she had cold, piercing eyes that could kill a man where he stood.

"Last I heard they were southeast!"

Quiet looked to her southeast, knife still pressed to the officer's throat. Behind an expanse of jungle, there were a couple of small hills with rocky faces. Behind that was more jungle that stretched for miles.

"P-please, let me go!" He whimpered.

"Who're They?" Quiet returned her gaze to the man, who shriveled even further into his tan uniform.

"Two of them! Fighting! Last I heard on the radio!"

Satisfied with the amount of answers she received, Quiet eased the pressure she exerted on the man. He took a couple of dry gulps and his breathing stabilized.

"Thank you-"

"Quiet." She whispered, pressing the knife into his throat with a sharp yelp. Blood pooled out into her gloves, but Quiet ignored it as she wiped the blade on his uniform. The officer's body went limp and his head lolled to the side. She stood up and placed her knife back into its spot at her thigh, then proceeded southeast into the jungle.

Any normal person would be irritated at the amount of mosquitos buzzing around their body, but Quiet wasn't. Mosquitos stayed away from her. The parasites in her body naturally repelled them. Something about excreting a certain chemical that made mosquitos think she was distasteful. Quiet didn't know much about the parasites in her body. The only thing she was told was that her skin was photosynthetic, and that the parasites enhanced her abilities in battle. She was informed about nothing else, probably because there was nothing else in the research.

Quiet dashed along the undergrowth, but not for long. The Skulls would notice her dashing a long ways off. Instead, she ran along the jungle, choosing a more human way of travel. She held her rifle close to her chest and filled it with bullets. Hollow point, to create a mushrooming effect on her targets. Most of them didn't wear clothes, partially because they wanted to and partially because their bodies depended on sunlight to nourish them. Strength in exchange for nourishment.

The clearing was a little ways ahead, small gaps between the trees exposed a side of a cliff. A loud rattle of guns emanated from the center of the clearing. Two loud explosions followed by a steady rattle. A moment of silence, then two loud explosions followed by yet another steady rattle. One shotgun and one rifle. Quiet crouched low and hastened her pace as silently as she could, weaving between the bushes. The Skulls might be in the middle of a massacre.

The clearing was wide. A half of it was taller than the other, a rocky cliff side separating it. Splotches of the green grass were charcoal from where grenades had detonated. Animals cried in terror as their brethren took the brunt of an attack imposed by a Skull. They scampered off and disappeared into the forest. Quiet ducked and blended in- literally- with the undergrowth.

There were two of them. They weren't massacring soldiers or innocent villagers, no, instead they were fighting each other. One of them must have broken decided to lash out of his partner, deciding to kill him instead of wounding.

The Skull to Quiet's right stood on top of a rock jutting from the side of the cliff. Short cut golden hair and emerald eyes reflected very little light off of them. His face was composed and silent. The Skull's maroon tank top was splattered with blotches of blood, a lightweight bulletproof vest hanging loosely from his shoulders. On the straps was a long row of shotgun slugs, two sawed off Rasp twin barrels in hand. He fired four shots, two in each hand. The sound blended together and made only two audible booms, but upon closer inspection, each shot could be heard milliseconds apart.

The other Skull dashed along, dodging her opponent's fire by jumping up and down the length of the clearing. This one was a female, most definitely, Quiet could tell form the short black hair that reached her chin. The skin was a pale gray color and her lips were blue and black, the sign of sun deprivation. She was donned in a formfitting titanium suit, with extra plating on her thighs and chest. Dangling from her hips was a katana in its sheath- the Japanese warrior. In her hands was a small assault rifle with a drum magazine, way more than fifty bullets in it. It bucked violently in her hands as she returned fire to her opponent, shooting away for a good seven seconds.

The man stood still, taking the brunt of the bullets and absorbing it into his body. Various other blood splotches dotted his shirt. Quiet wasn't even sure his tank top was even maroon to begin with. Bullet holes ran along the length of his left arm and chest, but he kept on fighting without any ailment to his health. He fired on, firing another four shots at the moving figure. Unlike the man, the woman retained some injuries and responded to them. They were bruises on her neck and dented plates on her chest.

The woman stopped and rested on the flat grass in the man's view. She sat down cross legged and tossed her gun to the side. It was empty and the woman had no magazines left to fill it. The man stood at his position and loaded two slugs into his shotguns. He did not fire. The man looked at her, waiting for something.

Quiet took her position and aimed her rifle. She leveled the barrel and pointed it at the man's head. Lining up her sights so the bullet would pass through his cheek, pierce his brain, and exit through the other side of his skull, Quiet controlled her breathing and waited a couple more breathes. The man was focused on his opponent, waiting for her to make a move. The woman just sat cross legged in the middle of the field, meditating or whatnot.

Her finger squeezed the trigger. A muffled pop, too silent for anyone to hear reached her ears. The man spun around on his heel and his mouth dropped.

A perfect shot.

* * *

 **[+] Clue : Immortal Man**

 **[+] Weapon : Guilty Butterfly (Battle Scarred)**

 **[+] Armor : Hastily Modified LBPV (Worn)  
**


	3. Immortal Man

Faster than the average human, or the average Skull for that matter, the man fired a shot from his own weapon and knocked Quiet's bullet astray. A poof of dust shot out of the cliff meters away. Not missing a beat, the man twisted and fired his remaining three shots on his opponent, who, during this time, had snuck up on him at the exact same time as Quiet fired her shot. A grunt escaped the woman's lips as she twirled and jumped away from the man's next four shots.

The woman had two new bruises on her cheek. She held her katana out in her hands and charged back at the man for another slice. The katana, as Quiet studied closer, was a modified blade. It was made from a dark steel and the edge glowed ominous purple. Probably tipped in poison. The man, anticipating this, deftly jumped out of the way and returned fire from his shotguns and knocked her to her back again.

Before he could strike her again, the woman was gone from sight. Four bangs resonated through the clearing, hitting none of the targets. Quiet watched with interest. This person manipulated the pigments in her skin and on the titanium clothing she wore to disappear from view. The titanium, it seemed, helped to blend her body with the surroundings. Whatever it was, she was impossible to see, and Quiet could disappear as well.

Behind the man, the woman reappeared and drove her blade down. The purple edge sliced through his arm and the man cried in pain as he fired two shots. The woman flew back, but not without a smirk. She had landed a hit on the man and disabled one of his arms. Landing with a roll, the woman bounced to her feet and charged at the man again. She thrusted her blade into his stomach and twisted it, creating a sizable hole in his upper half. The man gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut. He dropped to his knees and-

Fired two shots at the woman, knocking her to her back. The katana was left in his stomach, but the man ignored it for now as he picked up his other arm. He jammed it into his stump, no, he _drove_ it into his stump with a howl. It looked as if his teeth were going to break from the amount of force he exerted on his jaws. Then Quiet saw it.

He was connecting his arm to the stump.

Webs of flesh, meat, tissue, organs, bones, and veins connected the arm to the stump and within seconds the man flexed his now healed arm. Quiet's jaw dropped. It was impossible. Anatomically impossible. There was no way a human being could regenerate two body parts. The woman saw this too and her eyes widened at the sudden shift in the battle. The man wrenched the katana from his torso and twirled it in his fingers, before throwing it to his opponents. Through the scope, Quiet watched the hole seal up with the same method- guts spider webbing to seal up the hole as if nothing changed.

"Damn." The woman stood up reluctantly. It was understandable. With an opponent like that, who was practically immortal, it would be a severe esteem killer. Unless you were to sever the connection from the brain to the parasites. His weakness would be located at his head, or more specifically his spinal cord.

The woman seemed to have the same thought as well. A faint smile ran along her lips and she disappeared from sight. The immortal man huffed and picked up his guns, quickly reloading them and jumping down into the charred grass below. Quiet could see the woman. The woman was hiding in the bushes in the jungle. The man was looking for her, two shotguns held out in front of him at an acute angle.

Quiet lined up her sights and followed the female Skull. The crosshair would just manage to hover right over her head, but by the time her body was mentally preparing itself to pull the trigger- which usually took milliseconds, the woman was gone. She played this game of cat and mouse for some time, following the female Skull around the jungle while the Skull tried to find an opening. Quiet didn't mind, the two fighters didn't seem to be going anywhere. The immortal man seemed to have unlimited ammo and the female had a weapon that was probably indestructible.

Just then, when the woman had progressed behind the man in the blink of an eye, the man flipped around and fired four extremely lucky and precise shots point blank into her suit. The woman was knocked to her feet and a large dent appeared along the grooves and rivets of her armor. As the woman was rising, Quiet lined up her shot. A silent shot erupted from the end of her barrel and the woman's head snapped back in a spray of purple blood. She followed immediately after with a shot to the man.

The man, reacting beyond what Quiet was capable of reacting, spun and fired two shots at the silent bullet that flew towards him. He missed his shots and the projectile tore through his shoulder and came out of his hip. Quiet ran and ducked up some foliage nearby, repositioning and preparing to take yet another shot.

She watched as the immortal man shrugged off his wound like it was just a thin paper cut. He ran over to his opponent and stood over her. Instead of shooting, he knelt down and holstered his shotguns. Then, kneeling down, the man held the woman in his hands and inspected the wound that was inflicted upon her.

What could he be possibly doing? Reviving his opponent? The person who was out for his head? Quiet shook her head slowly, and kept her sights hover over the man's head. Quiet fired again and the man fell back with a silent howl. Following her shot, Quiet fired two more times and drew the magazine out of its socket and loaded a fresh one in.

What should have killed any mortal human being, no matter how badly experimented on, was rendered ineffective as the man rolled out of the way. Two poofs of dirt came from the ground where his head and heart were. The immortal man jumped up and grabbed his shotguns. Loading two in each, he scanned the surroundings for Quiet.

"Stop shooting." He called out into the jungle. "This is not your fight."

Quiet pulled the trigger again.

She watched the man's ears twitch and his inhuman reaction as he ducked, spun, and fired two precise shots at where Quiet was exactly. She winced as two shots hit her, one in the arm and another dulled one in the chest. She jumped and ran, silently, and disguised with her surroundings to a different spot.

Two more shots rang out, each timed and well off from each other.

Bark splintered and rained out of the tree next to Quiet. He could see her movements as she ran, that much was evident as his calm eyes tracked her as she ran in-between the trees and under a large clove of leaves. Her heart beat like no other and her eyes gained immense tunnel vision.

Despite the stakes, and the potential for Quiet to die and never find out where Snake is, she found the encounter to be exhilarating. Something about the rush of adrenaline as the opponent fought like no normal person would. Quiet stopped, fired, and moved again. Just in time for his shots to completely miss her.

"Stop." The man reloaded his guns and stared out into an empty spot where he presumed Quiet was.

Quiet was a little ways off from his positioning. She stopped and fired a bullet, and continued to move before she had fully bolted her rifle. The man let out a small cough and staggered backwards. Her bullet had pierced his neck and quite possibly his spinal cord. He fell to the ground and writhed for a moment, a couple feet away from his previous opponent. His hands wrapped around his neck in vain ad blood seeped through his fingertips.

The fight was over. That was one rumor down. Now to finish the job and search for Snake's whereabouts.

Quiet pouted to herself as she walked towards him.

She holstered her rifle to her back and drew a knife. Uncloaking herself with an audible sound, Quiet smirked and approached the man. He stared at her with a red face, his fingers matted with blood. For emphasis on winning, Quiet flipped her knife and twirled it about her fingers. She had done it, killed the impossible. A wide smile tugged at her lips. It was a little malicious, but Quiet thought she got the message across.

Well, the thought she did.

The man suddenly shot up and threw her to the ground with a deft sweep of his leg. Quiet used the momentum of the fall to flip and regain her balance. She jumped immediately into a combat stance and flipped her knife once around her index finger. The man let out a small cough and wiped his cheek, smearing blood over the skin.

Quiet feinted a left hook and thrust the blade forward with her other hand. Blocking the feint, the man twisted her arm and took the knife into his chest. His marron shirt was made even darker with the splotch of growing blood. Quiet pulled the knife out and stabbed him in the neck and then the face. Before the blade had reached his nose, the man let go of her arm and deflected her hand. Quiet hooked her leg around his and sharply pulled backwards, trying to send him onto his back.

The man spun and grabbed a handful of her hair. Quiet cried out in pain and brought the knife back into his chest in a furious effort to stab the man. His hand wrapped around her throat and a sudden collision to her face sent stars across her vision. Another punch and Quiet staggered back. Her mind spun and she had trouble focusing on the opposition.

Four load booms erupted from the man and Quiet howled. She flew back, the entire left side of her head burning with pain. Everything around her spun as she made contact with the grass. The knife had flown form her hand and clattered uselessly on the rock some distance away. Her rifle dug into her exposed back and the strap felt tight around her neck. Her face stung and pulsated. It hurt, but didn't bleed.

Rubber bullets.

The man stepped towards her, the tables suddenly turned. He had one hand hooked on his belt, and another twirling his rubber twin barrel around his forefinger. Quiet made an attempt to dash away, an attempt that got shutdown with a swirling haze of pain. Her thighs felt like someone had viciously given them a good smack and the dull ache of her face filled her mind. She stared at the sky, watching the few fluffy clouds against the blue. Quiet was unable and unwilling to move any part of her body.

The Immortal man stepped into view. Golden hair cut neatly, short, and ruffled. His emerald eyes stared down with disappointment, the very gaze made Quiet feel off. He knelt down to one knee and continued staring at her, regarding her and deciding what to do. Meanwhile, Quiet planned her next move. Form this positron, she could deliver a sharp kick to the side of his neck wither right foot. Wrapping her hands around his left arm would give her enough momentum to fall directly into a chokehold that would knock him unconscious.

Quiet reeled back. The man's face was very close to hers, so close that their noses were almost touching. The man muttered to himself, not paying an ounce of attention to Quiet.

A moment of silence.

Quiet took this opportunity and raised her foot, slamming the toe of her boot into the man's neck and sending him forward. He fell over Quiet, caught off guard from the sudden attack. Quiet tried to hook her hands around his arm, but the man had fallen too quickly for her to get a proper grip. Instead, she snaked her way out from under him. He got up and whipped around, only to meet the crotch of Quiet as she jumped onto his shoulders. Her gloved hands scrambled for his eyes. Finding them, Quiet dug her thumbs into his sockets with a squelch and a scream.

She held on tight as the man violently bucked and beat on her. The blood pooling form his eyes coated her thighs in a glistening red. He screeched and howled as Quiet dug her thumbs even further into his occipital sockets and twisted. If he had eyes before, he surely wouldn't after she was down with him. Immortal or mortal.

Releasing, Quiet jumped off him and watched as he collapsed to his knees. A cruel mimicry of tears ran down his cheeks, dark red and almost purple. He slumped down and his head bounced on the rock as he fell. Quiet inspected her hands, they were bloody and small clumps of flesh were sprinkled on her thumbs. Her leggings received a fresh coating of gore, streaks of it running down to her ankles. She watched the man for a few moments. He neither breathed nor stirred, a sure sign that he had died – or was unconscious.

Quiet walked over to her knife, laying silently on the grass a couple meters away. She wrapped her fingers around the handle and gave it a small twirl before turning back to the man. She instantly felt more at ease with it in her hands, a good reminder of the good old days with Boss.

A grunt from behind her drew her attention. She turned and felt the man tackle her, forearm pressed against her neck. Losing balance, Quiet fell with the man. He held her pinned against the ground. Staring face to face with him; his bleeding eye sockets had emerald orbs inside. That was impossible. Even if he was immortal, he should have underwent shock.

 _Dammit! Why won't you die!?_

Quiet swerved her knife into the man's abdomen, but even then, he seemed to be operating at 200% efficiency. A simple whack of his hand sent the knife flying further than it went before. Quiet watched the blade disappear into the grass.

Something rustled below her, something… cylindrical. Three grenades hung from the man's belt, just behind his spine. It was possibly placed there to hide it from his previous opponent. It was a risky chance that Quiet could exploit to break free. It could be either a smoke grenade or an incendiary grenade.

It was both.

Instantly, she felt a wave of nausea pass through her. Things swam in front of her, blending into gray as her chin touched her collarbone. Racking coughs filled her lips as she struggled to take in air. The man coughed as well, his grip faltering on her. Then a rush of wind zoomed across Quiet's ears as her bottom lip connected with a rocky surface. A whiff of fresh air and delightful sun warmed her body as she started slipping into unconsciousness.

A figure collapsed beside her. A butterfly with beautiful bright blue wings landed on his nose. It slowly flapped its wings before taking off again. That was the second time she saw that particular butterfly.

She was sure of it.

* * *

 **[+] Clue : Crane(1)**

 **[+] Clue : Houm(1)**

 **[-] Weapon :** **Guilty Butterfly (Battle Scarred)**

 **[-] Armor : Hastily Modified LBPV (Worn)**

* * *

 **Apologies for slacking off. Working on a different story at the moment, a passion project so to speak. Snake/Quiet planned for next chapter.  
**


End file.
